


i still hear you in the bass guitar of shitty songs we wrote when we were sixteen

by showzen



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Big angst, M/M, Maximised!Mike, Mike Townsend has ADHD, Tillman Henderson has ADHD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showzen/pseuds/showzen
Summary: Mike blinks. The inning is over.He’s almost in shock himself as he makes his way back to their bullpen, and the hitters whoop and laugh, wide-eyed, as they pass him.So it goes like this: Mike Townsend pitches a six-nothing shutout against the Millenials in his first game in three years.(or: what if mike got hit by secret weapon and maximised?)
Relationships: Jaylen Hotdogfingers & Mike Townsend, Mike Townsend/Tillman Henderson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	i still hear you in the bass guitar of shitty songs we wrote when we were sixteen

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT DIFFERENCES FROM CANON IN THIS AU:  
> -the blessing secret weapon hits mike townsend instead of goodwin morin in the season 9 elections at the same time he's pulled out of the shadows.  
> -at the end of the s10 regular season, players above spot 3 are shelled and added to the PODs.  
> -tillman henderson doesn't die in season 9.

_ now playing:  _ little dark age  _ by  _ mgmt

⏸—⚪————— 5:00

_ “i grieve in stereo _

_ the stereo sounds strange _

_ i know that if you hide _

_ it doesn’t go away” _

So it goes like this: Mike Townsend comes back from the Shadows.

He wakes up lying prone on the field, and his first thought is that it’s  _ really  _ cold, like, has it always been this cold? He scrambles into a sitting position and wraps his arms around himself, eyes still focused on the dewy grass beneath him. All sound is distant and muffled and seems to reverberate around him far too much for what it is, but what he can make out from the distorted soup of noise is footsteps, he thinks? thumping along the ground and getting louder. Suddenly hands are coating his back and shoulders. His instincts scream to flinch away, but everything feels like moving through treacle, so he just sort of wavers for a moment on the spot until someone walks in front of him, leaning down into his vision for the first time. Mike’s head twitches and he looks up into the fretful-relieved face of Theodore Duende.

“Mike,” Teddy says, his lips moving in slow motion. “Are you okay?”

Mike blinks. “hi, teddy,” He tries to say, but his mouth won’t cooperate, so it slurs together into something— _ wrong _ —and Teddy’s eyes crease around the edges the way they always used to when he was worried about you. A ringing, deep voice from behind him (he thinks maybe Betsy’s—oh, he’s missed Betsy) says, “Is he concussed?”

“Maybe?” Teddy’s voice is slightly frantic and rises at the end of every sentence like a question as he glances over the top of Mike’s head. “Does anyone know—”

“Oh, I know how to test for that!” comes Malik’s all-too-eager voice, and moments later he leans over Mike, swinging an arm frenetically in front of his face. Mike squints and shies away—rapid movement is making his eyes hurt—and Teddy swats Malik away. “No, no, you’re- you’re upsetting him, hold on.”

Something about the way he says that— _ you’re upsetting him _ —makes Mike embarrassed despite the care that it shows, and he sits up straighter, shakes his head. “i’m fine.”

Teddy pauses where he was slowly moving one finger in front of Mike’s face. “Really?”

He nods, giving a pensive smile. “yeah. really. shadows stuff just… leaves you kinda wonky, i guess.”

Teddy nods tensely, and then, as though he’s been holding himself back and just can’t restrain himself any longer, flings himself at Mike to wrap him in a hug. Mike laughs a little as he feels a few other people latch onto him in a similar way from various angles—gods, he needs more arms so he can hug all of them at the same time.

“Uh, Mike?” says Ollie (old Ollie, Ollie Mueller, not the new one Mike’s yet to meet properly), voice somewhat muffled from being squished between two players. “This yours?”

Mike leans back in confusion to see an inky-black shadow arm wrapped around Ollie’s shoulders. Looking around, he notices another on Malik, and Gwiffin, and Tot—he flexes his fingers, and the shadow ones move too. “oh. um,” He says. “i-i guess so.”

“Pog,” he grins. Mike does too.

-

< **jay** >

**gaylen:** playoffs not looking too Likely hm | Sent 8 years ago

**micycle:** lol | Sent 8 years ago

**gaylen:** wow You’re so Expressive | Sent 8 years ago

**micycle:** mhm | Sent 8 years ago

**micycle:** do u want to get a coffee later or something | Sent 8 years ago

**gaylen:** make It Alcoholic and I’m Game | Sent 8 years ago

**micycle:** done | Sent 8 years ago

—

**micycle:** yo its mike | Sent 7 years ago

**micycle:** townsend | Sent 7 years ago

**micycle:** i dont think youre getting these messages for obvious reasons but | Sent 7 years ago

**micycle:** i miss you. people keep getting incinerated and now that youre gone everyone hates me | Sent 7 years ago

**micycle:** i guess that’s kinda selfish hahah, sorry | Sent 7 years ago

**micycle:** ill see you around | Sent 7 years ago

**micycle:** or, well, i guess i wont | Sent 7 years ago

—

**micycle:** hi jay, its mike again | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** townsend, that is | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** we lost derrick today | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** he was the guy we got when you, uh | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** and we were kind of…….dating | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** i even wrote a cringy ass love song about him | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** youd totally make fun of me for it | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** haha anyway | Sent 6 years ago

**micycle:** ill text you later | Sent 6 years ago

—

**micycle:** hi, its mike | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** um, townsend | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** something weird happened with the decrees | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** well it always does but | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** u remember ron and malik? | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** they got swapped with versions of themselves from alternate dimensions, happened to every team in the league | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** new malik is um, a very high energy catboy who keeps looking right above our heads and saying weird stuff about power rankings??? | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** new ron is | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** a lot like old ron | Sent 5 years ago

**micycle:** i think youd like them | Sent 5 years ago

—

**micycle:** they want to bring you back | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** very cool but also | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** very embarrassing for the fact ive sent you five full years worth of texts | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** sorry about that | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** if it does work | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** and you have to promise not to bully me about this but im kind of dating tillman henderson | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** only kind of. hes allergic to the word boyfriend | Sent 3 years old

**micycle:** hoping for the best for this whole necromancy thing, anyway | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** this is mike, by the way | Sent 3 years ago

**micycle:** townsend | Sent 3 years ago

—

**gaylen:** hi Mike | Sent 3 years ago

**gaylen:** so tgis is a little Awkeard | Sent 3 years ago

**gaylen:** I’m Sprry I think | Sent 3 years ago

**gaylen:** also Sotry fir the mispellimgs. ipjones don’y seem yo like Dead pe[ple’s habds | Sent 3 years ago

**gaylen:** anf thank You | Sent 3 years ago

**gaylen:** I’m npt foing to srnd You fuve years wprth of txts becausw I’m mot a Big nerd | Sent 3 years ago

**gaylen:** thst said I aporeciate tge facy tgat You did | Sent 3 years ago

**gaylen:** dpn’t chamge Mike okay | Sent 3 years ago

—Today—

**micycle:** you know you couldve sent one text over the whole 3 years i was gone | Sent 4:44pm

**gaylen:** Sorry | Sent 4:46pm

**micycle:** im just kidding | Sent 4:46pm

**micycle:** hi jaylen | Sent 4:46pm

**gaylen:** hi Mike | Sent 4:47pm

**gaylen:** I guess I | Sent 4:48pm

**gaylen:** I’m glad You’re home | Sent 4:48pm

**micycle:** thank you jay | Sent 4:49pm

**micycle:** i am too | Sent 4:49pm

**micycle:** youre better at typing than you were 3 years ago | Sent 4:49pm

**gaylen:** yes well, I’m less Dead than I was 3 years ago | Sent 5:01pm

**gaylen:** I’m guessing You’ve heard about the whole Murderous revenant thing | Sent 5:02pm

**micycle:** yyyeep | Sent 5:02pm

**micycle:** look im not here to judge you | Sent 5:03pm

**micycle:** youre my best friend | Sent 5:03pm

**micycle:** im just glad its different now. easier for you | Sent 5:03pm

**gaylen:** and for the people I feel the need to Physically bean with a blaseball | Sent 5:03pm

**micycle:** yes and for those people too | Sent 5:04pm

**gaylen:** oh, and are You Sure I’m Your Best friend | Sent 5:06pm

**micycle:** ? | Sent 5:07pm

**gaylen:** not Tillman Henderson hm? | Sent 5:07pm

**micycle:** oh screw you i said you werent allowed to bully me | Sent 5:07pm

**gaylen:** hahahahahaha | Sent 5:08pm

**micycle:** anyway things are kind of weird between him and me now | Sent 5:09pm

**micycle:** he wont answer my texts and i, uh | Sent 5:10pm

**micycle:** i sent a bunch | Sent 5:10pm

**gaylen:** Ah | Sent 5:11pm

**gaylen:** oh well boys suck Anyway thats why I dont date them B) | Sent 5:12pm

**micycle:** oh jaylen, you always know just what to say :l | Sent 5:12pm

< **cap’n (crunch)** >

**teddyd:** Hi Mike! :-) Just checking in. I know things have been a little tough since you came back, but just thought I’d keep you in the loop - you can find our practice schedule  here , but don’t feel any pressure to come to practice until you have your head on straight! You just look after you for now, and show up whenever you feel ready. | Sent 5:07pm

**mike:** hey teddy, sorry, i was...dealing with something uh yeah thank you, that means a lot | Sent 5:18pm

**mike:** dunno if im feeling up to actually pitching but i could bring some muffins to next practice? if that’s cool | Sent 5:18pm

**teddyd:** Oh hell yeah! Ofc that’s cool, looking forward to it | Sent 5:19pm

**teddyd:** And to seeing you! | Sent 5:19pm

**mike:** haha, right, awesome | Sent 5:20pm

< **tilly** >

**tillyhendy69:** haha gay | Sent 3 years ago

**mikey:** hahahah whatever man youre gay | Sent 3 years ago

**tillyhendy69:** no u | Sent 3 years ago

**mikey:** no u | Sent 3 years ago

—Today—

**mikey:** hey, so… this is kinda weird, but i’m back | Sent 4:43pm 

**mikey:** um, this is mike, by the way | Sent 4:43pm

**mikey:** townsend | Sent 4:43pm

**mikey:** we could hang out or something if you wanted | Sent 4:45pm

**mikey:** like we used to | Sent 4:45pm

**mikey:** we don’t have to its fine i get that this is all really awkward or whatever | Sent 5:01pm

**mikey:** just let me know when you see this | Sent 5:04pm

**mikey:** it wouldnt kill you to read these yknow | Sent 5:17pm

✓ Read 5:25pm

-

Mike’s first game is the fifth of the season. He’s all nerves as he sits in the bullpen in the top of the first inning, hands picking at his nails (and his shadow arms wheeling circularly around him, four pairs of them, all squirming anxiously through the air) and tapping a foot on the ground. It’s an away game, so the hitters are out there swinging for the fences, but the best anyone does is Gwiff hits a single just before Malik gets out at first and ends their half of the inning. 

Mike passes Teddy on his way up to the mound. He claps him on the shoulder as he goes by, and his arms retreat back into just the one pair. Teddy does not look hopeful, but he says “Just do your best, alright?” Mike nods mutely.

Thomas Dracaena steps up to the plate, looking rather sure of himself. Mike can’t blame him; he’s more than half-expecting the Garages’ winning streak to end with him, and so is the rest of the team, and the fans, and pretty much everyone in the League. Mike stretches, and two pairs of arms pop out of him—Dracaena’s eyes momentarily widen, but he doesn’t falter, even as Mike passes the ball to one of the shadowy new hands to pitch.

Ball. Ball. Strike. Ball. Strike.

And just like that, he strikes Thomas Dracaena out without blinking an eye. He stares at the blaseball in his hand in shock, then back up at where Dracaena’s slinking back to the dugout and Sandie Turner is taking his place. They look at him considerably more warily than Mike is used to. He passes the ball to himself.

Strike. Ball. Strike.

And he strikes Turner out, and he watches the few thousand faces in the stands lift in shock and Charlatan Seabright makes her way to the plate.

Strike. Strike.

Mike blinks. The inning is over.

He’s almost in shock himself as he makes his way back to their bullpen, and the hitters whoop and laugh, wide-eyed, as they pass him.

So it goes like this: Mike Townsend pitches a six-nothing shutout against the Millenials in his first game in three years.

_ now playing:  _ doc gooden  _ by  _ the mountain goats

⏸——⚪———— 4:19

_ “wheels down in seattle _

_ three years ago in this town _

_ they sent their best and brightest to me _

_ i sent them all back down” _

Mike understands why the big stars are the way that they are now.

Not to describe himself as a big star—gods, no, that’s not him and it never will be if he has any say in it—but whenever he’s met the likes of Jessica Telephone, Nagomi Mcdaniel, PolkaDot Patterson… even when they’re pleasant, they never have all too much time for other people, and he’s always wondered why.

Well, now he knows. Barely a week of being a good pitcher ( _ good pitcher, good pitcher,  _ he rolls the unfamiliar phrase around in his mind) and he is  _ exhausted.  _ These days after he gets home (later, inexplicably, than it used to be) instead of mucking around on his guitar for a bit or calling someone who might want to go out for drinks or stay in for movies, he finds himself just slapping the first non-staticky radio station he can find and collapsing alone on the sofa, which is just what he’s done tonight. He doesn’t know how Jessica Telephone has it in her to keep doing what she does.

The radio fades off from noisy talk programming that he wasn’t really listening to into music and, of course, Mike’s famous luck, his  _ anthem  _ comes on.

He groans, and a few pairs of hands instinctively lift themselves to his face in complaint.

_ The waterboy looks down at him as he picks up the ball _

_ It’s another awful day, it’s another awful day _

“Shut up,” he grumbles, flinging arm after arm fruitlessly in the direction of the sound, hoping that one would somehow hit the off button.

It’s weird, Mike thinks when he runs out of arms. Sure, after the band got out of their fun little  _ hating-his-guts  _ phase, they were nicer to him, but people in the halls would still sing-shout the refrains of this song at him whenever he did almost anything—drop something,  _ has to bend down and pick it up again,  _ pitching practice,  _ pitches the ball, in the same way,  _ do anything slightly stupid,  _ loser and a total disgrace.  _ He knows they’re just jokes, he  _ knows  _ that, but he still can’t help but remember what lines the chorus ends in.

Nobody does that anymore. He started to realise it after his first couple of games, even tried to intentionally provoke some musical ribbing by being extra  _ ‘clumsy’  _ that day, but nothing.

He knows why. And he hates it.

-

< **the seattle GAY RAGES** >

**nyalik:** Im kicking you out of the band!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 3:< | Sent 7:48pm

**quaccattacc:** for being right | Sent 7:48pm

**nyalik:** Pineapple on pizza is not right!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Pineapple on pizza is an affront to the immaterial plane and in fact the entire splort of blaseball!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | Sent 7:49pm

**quaccattacc:** tell that to the fridays :) | Sent 7:49pm

**nyalik:** Hey!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe i will!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | Sent 7:50pm

**nyalik:** Sweetheart dear love of my life  **@pielovinkitty** You used to be a friday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | Sent 7:50pm

**pielovinkitty:** nya!!!!!!! :3c that i did!!!?? | Sent 7:55pm

**nyalik:** Please confirm that even in hawai’i pineapple on pizza is accursed!!!!!!! | Sent 7:56pm

**pielovinkitty:** nya, i’m sorry to break this to you my wonderful sweet malik 3: | Sent 7:57pm

**pielovinkitty:** but pineapple pizza good >:3c | Sent 7:57pm

**quaccattacc:** HA | Sent 7:58pm

**nyalik:** NYOOO | Sent 7:58pm

**kingtot:** handin out popcorn folks 🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿 getcha popcorn | Sent 7:58pm

**kickflipmueller:** lmfao 🍿 | Sent 7:59pm

**quaccattacc:** ok but you know what this means right | Sent 8:01pm

**quaccattacc:** everyone has to weigh in | Sent 8:02pm

**quaccattacc:** ill make a pie chart for pro-pineapple garages and anti-pineapple garages | Sent 8:02pm

**kickflipmueller:** seconding pineapple on pizza good | Sent 8:05pm

**quaccattacc:** >:) one more point for pro | Sent 8:05pm

**quaccattacc:** step up your game anti-truthers | Sent 8:05pm

**justmike:** what on earth did i just return to | Sent 8:06pm

**nyalik:** Hi myike!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :3 /) | Sent 8:07pm

**justmike:** hi myalik /)(\ | Sent 8:07pm

**nyalik:** Im here alone defending the honor of pizza unsullied by pineapple 3:< | Sent 8:08pm

**nyalik:** Will you join me in my noble battle for the truth!!!!!!!!! | Sent 8:08pm

**kingtot:** almost forgot where you came from for a sec there malik | Sent 8:08pm

**justmike:** um | Sent 8:09pm

**quaccattacc:** pineapple pineapple pineapple pineapple | Sent 8:09pm

**justmike:** actually i think im with malik on this one. pineapple doesnt belong on pizza, it belongs in like. idk, cakes | Sent 8:09pm

**pielovinkitty:** 3:< micheal 3:< | Sent 8:09pm

**quaccattacc:** im kicking you out of the band | Sent 8:10pm

**justmike:** what, again? | Sent 8:10pm

**justmike:** sorry, reflex | Sent 8:17pm

**justmike:** we can move on | Sent 8:18pm

**quaccattacc:** 👍 | Sent 8:18pm

**quaccattacc:** why hasnt the commissioner paid alpple to make a multi-thumb emoji yet | Sent 8:18pm

**quaccattacc:** anyway | Sent 8:18pm

**spitvalve:** hot take: the topping of the pizza matters less than the quality of the base | Sent 8:20pm

**justmike:** actually, yeah, betsys right | Sent 8:20pm

**quaccattacc:** alright alright baking nerds | Sent 8:21pm

**spitvalve:** ill stab you irl | Sent 8:22pm

**quaccattacc:** answer the question, yes pineapple or no pineapple | Sent 8:22pm

**spitvalve:** …..no pineapple | Sent 8:24pm

**nyalik:** YESSSSSS >:3c | Sent 8:24pm

**justmike:** welcome to the winners’ side | Sent 8:25pm

**duendesday:** I literally left for like half an hour and you’ve all lost your minds! | Sent 8:25pm

**spitvalve:** oh teddy | Sent 8:26pm

**spitvalve:** you sweet naive boy | Sent 8:26pm

**spitvalve:** to assume we had our minds in the first place | Sent 8:27pm

**duendesday:** ...Yeah fair | Sent 8:27pm

**duendesday:** Okay what are we arguing? | Sent 8:28pm

**quaccattacc:** pineapple on pizza yes or no | Sent 8:28pm

**duendesday:** Hmm | Sent 8:29pm

**duendesday:** I actually don’t think I have a dog in this fight. I’ve never tried it | Sent 8:29pm

**nyalik:** You’ve???????????????? | Sent 8:29pm

**spitvalve:** never???? | Sent 8:30pm

**quaccattacc:** ok teddy’s going in his own special lil category called CURSED | Sent 8:30pm

**duendesday:** Oh, shit, wait, Mike is here? | Sent 8:32pm

**justmike:** yup, hello | Sent 8:33pm

**duendesday:** Great! Before this conversation spun off into.... whatever this is, we were saying a bunch of us are going out for drinks tonight, if you wanted to come? | Sent 8:34pm

**kickflipmueller:** oh yeah lmao | Sent 8:34pm

**justmike:** ahh i appreciate it but actually i cant | Sent 8:35pm

**quaccattacc:** booooooooo | Sent 8:36pm

**nyalik:** Awwwww 3: 3: | Sent 8:36pm

**justmike:** no seriously! im having a movie night with someone! | Sent 8:37pm

**spitvalve:** okay mike is this “someone” named michael x. townsend and is the “movie night” actually just high school musical on repeat | Sent 8:38pm

**kickflipmueller:** insanity when camp rock is right there but ok | Sent 8:38pm

**kingtot:** wait your middle initial is x? | Sent 8:38pm

**spitvalve:** high school musical >>>> camp rock and im not playing. | Sent 8:38pm

**kickflipmueller:** i thought i liked u betsy i rly did | Sent 8:39pm

**duendesday:** You’re all clowns, the best Dlisney channel original movie is Teen Beach Movie | Sent 8:41pm

**spitvalve:** jesus fucking christ teddy | Sent 8:42pm

**spitvalve:** i ask this without a hint of mirth, what is fucking wrong with you | Sent 8:42pm

-

Mike frowns and shuts off his phone before he can get wrapped up in another argument.

“Hey, get off your phone,” says Jaylen Hotdogfingers as she sets down a bottle of red wine on his countertop, grinning at him. 

“sorry,” he chuckles, slipping it back into his pocket. “it’s just, uh... are you still in the garages group chat?”

“Yeah, but I always have it muted,” Jaylen responds, leaning over the counter. “You people are fucking animals. My phone once vibrated itself off of the table just from that chat—I think it was trying to kill itself.”

Mike snorts. “that’s smart.”

“I always am.”

“not you, the phone.”

That gets a loud cackle out of her, and he grins. “...out of curiosity, though, what’s your take on pineapple pizza?”

She looks at him like he’s gone mad, still smiling a little, and gives a shrug. “I literally don’t care. It’s all pizza, right?”

“fair.” He gestures with his head towards the old sofa on the opposite side of the apartment to the little kitchenette as he heads over there, and Jaylen retrieves the two drinks she’s poured them and follows suit, handing one to Mike as he sits down.

He makes a face, swirling the wine around in the glass. “i can’t believe you were ever a garage.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“drinking this classy shit, i mean,” He says with a grin, making sure she knows he’s just kidding. “you can’t just drink terrible warm beer like the rest of us?”

“Look, just because the rest of you share one singular razor to give yourselves shitty undercuts—” She starts, smiling hugely as Mike cuts her off with a long groan of “ _ GOD _ ”.

“don’t remind me,” he grumbles, putting his face in about five hands. “we  _ don’t  _ do that anymore, it’s important that you know that.”

“Mhm, sure,” Jaylen says, taking a sip of her drink. Mike scowls at her.

The night continues as planned, with tons of crappy movies and more glasses of wine. They’re older, and different than the last time they did this (he still recalls Jaylen’s cloud of fluffy hair tucked under a blaseball cap and her soft, callow face, his uneven undercut and scratchy-chinned failure to grow facial hair) but it feels… well, more or less the same. He thinks they’re funnier now. Smarter, too.

On that note. As another set of credits rolls over cheesily nostalgic pop he clears his throat, shifts in his seat. Jaylen, who knows him far too well, turns her head from where she’s gradually slid off of her seat and onto the floor. “What’s up?”

“huh?”

“You only clear your throat like that when you have something you want to say,” she informs him, spinning around entirely so she can face him. “So out with it.”

_i didn’t know i did that,_ he thinks. “uh,” he starts. “so i know you’re not— _the best_ — at emotions—”

“Rude,” she interjects.

“no, i just mean you can be a little, um… deflective, of stuff like that—”

“Hurtful!” she interjects again, with more feeling this time.

He swishes all of his arms generally in her direction, in some sort of gesture of complaint. “you know what i’m getting at! don’t be difficult, i’m trying to be genuine here.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she raises her hands placatingly. “Proceed. I’ll try to shut up.”

“that’ll be the day,” he says dryly. “but um, yeah, no, i’ve just… i’ve been thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” she says, almost instinctively. He makes a face at her.

“just… you’ve been, like, a  _ good pitcher _ for a while, right?”

She snorts. “Understatement, but yes.”

Mike restrains an eye roll, but decides that if he continues plowing on with  _ real shit  _ she’ll have to cave eventually. Hopefully. “how do you… cope?”

The room deadens. The credits end, and crackle off into rippling old VHS static, and he can hear Jaylen swallow hard. “i mean. how. can i cope? i don’t...” He trails off, shadow arms falling back into phase with his meatspace ones. He’s never felt the mood change so swiftly as it just did.

Jaylen turns her face away from him, and he watches the pale, faltering light flicker across her scarred cheek. After a while, she puts her fingers to her wrist, checks her pulse, then speaks. “I don’t know, Mike. I don’t think you do.”

He blinks, and feels his brow crease a little. “that can’t be it. all of the big names... seem to do so well.”

She turns to look at him, and the despair in her eyes is deep and haunting. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen this side of Jaylen for more than a glimpse at a time. “On the outside, sure. We’re all used to putting on a face for the press, and that works just as well with other real people, for a little while. But when you get to know them…” She sighs, tips her head back, and takes a long pause. “You remember Jess Telephone and I used to get along, back in the first season?”

Mike makes a quiet noise of agreement. Jaylen continues, “That’s because she was  _ normal.  _ We all were. Now, she’s…” She trails off, shaking her head. “She isn’t right, Mike. There’s something inside her that’s gone wrong. It’s in me, too.” She doesn’t say  _ it’ll be in you soon, _ but Mike hears it anyway.

Jaylen sighs loudly, and takes a long, long drink, draining her glass in one fell swoop. “All you can do,” she says, voice back to hard, definitive, unemotional, “is live in the right now. Right? Don’t think about tomorrow, don’t think about your next game, or whatever. Right now, we’re watching trash movies and getting drunk.”

Mike lets out one of those little unconvincing laughs that you do when you’re trying to tell yourself that you’re okay. “right. right.”

Jaylen crawls over to the TV and pops out the tape of  _ Dlirty Dancing  _ (because yeah, Mike’s a big old-tech nerd who prefers to watch stuff on VHS, sue him).

“can we watch high school musical?” Mike asks in a small voice.

“‘Course.” Jaylen’s voice is casual, but he knows that the conversation left her feeling just as empty as him.

-

< **tilly** >

**tillyhendy69:** haha gay | Sent 3 years ago

**mikey:** hahahah whatever man youre gay | Sent 3 years ago

**tillyhendy69:** no u | Sent 3 years ago

**mikey:** no u | Sent 3 years ago

—

**mikey:** hey, so… this is kinda weird, but i’m back | Sent 1 week ago

**mikey:** um, this is mike, by the way | Sent 1 week ago

**mikey:** townsend | Sent 1 week ago

**mikey:** we could hang out or something if you wanted | Sent 1 week ago

**mikey:** like we used to | Sent 1 week ago

**mikey:** we don’t have to its fine i get that this is all really awkward or whatever | Sent 1 week ago

**mikey:** just let me know when you see this | Sent 1 week ago

**mikey:** it wouldnt kill you to read these yknow | Sent 1 week ago

—Today—

**mikey:** hey, just checkin in | Sent 11:16pm

**mikey:** it’s mike | Sent 11:16pm

**mikey:** townsend | Sent 11:16pm

**mikey:** just, if you ever wanna chat or anything im here | Sent 11:17pm

**mikey:** might be fun to catch up | Sent 11:18pm

✓ Read 11:19pm

-

Jaylen’s gone now, and Mike’s more than a little tipsy. Wine always makes him sad. He should’ve known that.

He’s spending the rest of his night laying on the sofa again (this time face-down) and tapping out along to the radio on every surface in the apartment.

_ “this is why i have the fun-da-men-taaals… _ ” He mumbles into the cushion as three of his arms lay down some intense jazz chops on the other side of the room. Man, the drums in this song really are insane. How come his shadow arms are better drummers than he is?

The song fades out, and—

Fucking hell.

_ Mike Townsend (Is a Disappointment) _ comes on somehow for the second time that day, and it’s the first thing to inspire him to sit up in over an hour. He glares at the radio, and he is full of sadness, despair, emptiness, rage and, and, and—

One of his new arms flies to the radio, so quick you’d miss it if you blinked, and crushes it effortlessly. The song sputters out and dies. Mike’s eyes widen.

He didn’t know he could do that.

_ now playing:  _ why’d you only call me when you’re high?  _ by  _ arctic monkeys

⏸———⚪——— 2:41

_ “somewhere darker _

_ talking the same shite _

_ i need a partner (hey) _

_ well, are you out tonight?” _

< **the seattle GAY RAGES** >

**kickflipmueller:** yo  **@justmike** they finally updated player pages | Sent 11:42am

**kickflipmueller:** youre officially a 5 star pitcher | Sent 11:42am

**spitvalve:** oh shit!!!!!!!! watch out!!!!!! | Sent 11:43am

**spitvalve:** mikeyboy gonna put u in the ground!!!!! | Sent 11:43am

**duendesday:** Oh hey holy shit, that’s pretty cool! Congrats Mike! | Sent 11:45am

**justmike:** oh shit | Sent 11:46am

**justmike:** for real? | Sent 11:46am

**spitvalve:** ya nerd | Sent 11:47am

**sparksbeansbeans:** OH DIP, AWESOME!!!! GRATZ!!!! | Sent 11:48am

**justmike:** ahaha thank u | Sent 11:48am

**justmike:** thats unreal | Sent 11:48am

**duendesday:** I just checked, you’re also number 5 on the idol board! | Sent 11:50am

**justmike:** oh! | Sent 11:50am

**justmike:** oh | Sent 11:50am

**justmike:** well | Sent 11:51am

**justmike:** that’s! pretty cool! | Sent 11:52am

< **tilly** >

**mikey:** hey, just checkin in | Sent 1 month ago

**mikey:** it’s mike | Sent 1 month ago

**mikey:** townsend | Sent 1 month ago

**mikey:** just, if you ever wanna chat or anything im here | 1 month ago

**mikey:** might be fun to catch up | Sent 1 month ago

—Today—

**tillyhendy69:** u dont have 2 sign ur name on every text u send nerd i fkin know who u r | Sent 12:01pm

**mikey:** right sorry | Sent 12:01pm

**mikey:** oh by the way thanks for texting me back | Sent 12:02pm

**mikey:** after a month | Sent 12:02pm

**tillyhendy69:** i was busy ok | Sent 12:03pm

**mikey:** busy my ass | Sent 12:04pm

**tillyhendy69:** i can get busy w ur ass if u ask nice ;) | Sent 12:04pm

**mikey:** youre literally the worst person idk why i even texted you back | Sent 12:06pm

**tillyhendy69:** hey ur the 1 who texted me first | Sent 12:06pm

**tillyhendy69:** abt 500 times | Sent 12:06pm

**tillyhendy69:** needy ass bitch | Sent 12:06pm

**mikey:** well you always read them within abt 0.3 seconds of me sending them so idk whos needy | Sent 12:07pm

**tillyhendy69:** still u | Sent 12:08pm

**mikey:** whatever | Sent 12:08pm

**tillyhendy69:** anyway do u wanna hang out | Sent 12:09pm

**mikey:** oh so u text me back to hang out now im “famous” | Sent 12:10pm

**mikey:** what, did u see my name above number ten and figure im worth being seen with? | Sent 12:10pm

**tillyhendy69:** jesus dude alright i dont even wanna see ur ass | Sent 12:14pm

**mikey:** no wait | Sent 12:14pm

**mikey:** shit | Sent 12:14pm

**mikey:** im sorry. ive just been feeling weird lately but. i shouldnt take it out on you im sorry | Sent 12:15pm

**mikey:** do u wanna come over tomorrow | Sent 12:15pm

**tillyhendy69:** hmmm make it today and in an hour and im in | Sent 12:15pm

**mikey:** alright, done | Sent 12:16pm

**mikey:** now whos needy | Sent 12:18pm

**tillyhendy69:** shut up | Sent 12:18pm

-

By the time Tillman shows up at his doorstep, Mike is… weirdly nervous. He flinches at the sound of a knock on the door—a reaction which fades into a sigh as the knock becomes a constant rapping. “alright, alright, i’m coming,” he calls as he gets up. The knocking does not cease. Of course.

When he opens the door, Tillman, who does not process things quickly, punches him in the middle of the chest. “Oh, shit,” he says by way of an apology, rearing back the offending hand immediately.

“don’t worry about it,” Mike replies with an all-too-forgiving smile. He’s always way too soft when it comes to Tillman. He lets himself form a small smirk, though, and adds “you have a terrible right hook on you, so. didn’t even hurt.”

Like clockwork, Tillman bristles—puffs up like a pufferfish and sticks out his chin at Mike. “Oh yeah?”

“yeah,” Mike teases, stepping back into his apartment. 

Tillman follows, five-foot-nothing and made of 80% concentrated stupidity, squaring his shoulders and grinning. “You wanna go?”

Mike snorts. “okay, okay, go ahead. gimme your best right hook.”

He does, and in the instant before his fist meets Mike’s left shoulder, his arm splits in two—one brand-new and shadowy, leaving behind its meatspace equivalent, and catches Tillman by the wrist.

“Hey, not fair!” He squirms a little in Mike’s grasp before trying again with his less-dominant hand, only for it to meet the same fate. Mike can’t help but laugh as Tillman vainly wiggles and twists his arms. Mike stretches out one (flesh) arm to make a fist and gently tap Tillman on the head. “bonk,” he says, for emphasis.

“Don’t bonk me, nerd!” His next tactic is to try and use his legs as weapons, kicking wildly at Mike. Fortunately for Mike, Tillman is short, so all he has to do is take a small step back to be out of the danger zone. Tillman continues to flounder for a little while longer before letting out a tortured sigh and slumping a bit. “Fiiiiiiine,” he groans. “You win.”

Mike releases him with a smile. “thank you. so did you want to watch a movie or something?” For just a second, Tillman looks like he’s about to say something, and then decides against it, instead shrugging as he walks over. “Yeah, sure, movie works for me.” He blinks, and then amends. “As long as it’s not High School Musical.”

“aw, what?” Mike pouts. “then what’s the point?”

“Uh, obviously, the pleasure of my fuckin’ incredible company,” Tillman smirks, sliding his arms under Mike’s to join his hands in the small of his back. 

Mike’s lips twitch into a smile, and he reaches down, wraps his arms around Tilly’s shoulders. “hmm... okay,  _ maybe  _ you’re worth a lack of the best movie ever created.”

“Oh,  _ thank you _ for the compliment,” he snorts as he steps back, arms around him still, leading them out of the doorway and over to the sofa. They collapse from standing onto the couch, both giggling like kids.

“you’re sitting on my arm.”

“Who cares, you have extras.”

Mike resorts to using said extras to sort through his tape library, select  _ The Parent Trap _ , shut the front door which he, apparently, forgot to do (he was distracted, okay?), and place the tape in the player to start the movie.

They remain entangled for the first ten minutes or so, but after that he can tell Tillman is getting bored—he starts to fidget in place, lolling his head back and tapping his hands idly on Mike. 

“your attention span is worse than mine,” he complains light-heartedly. In response, Tillman shuffles closer and decides to lean up to press a kiss to Mike’s neck, slotting their bodies together like puzzle pieces.

“oh, really?” he says with a small snort. 

Tillman smirks up at him. “If you’re down.”

Mike heaves a put-upon sigh. “tillman henderson, you heartless man. and here i was, thinking you just wanted an innocent movie day.”

“Should’ve known better,” he giggles, insistently nuzzling into the crook of Mike’s neck and peppering tiny kisses along his skin. He smiles back, and balls up his fists in the back of Tillman’s shirt to pull him closer.

-

< **tilly** >

**mikey:** hey, tonight was a lot of fun | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** thanks | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** yea bet u missed me huh ;)) | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** and u missed this DI- | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** be quiet or ill tell the pitchers group chat you like to be the little spoon | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** everyone likes to be the little spoon wym!!! | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** seriously dont tho | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** are you gonna | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** mike | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** havent decided yet :) | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** fukc you | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** mmmmmmhm | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** anyway what i was GONNA SAY | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** before u decided to be a rude bitch | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** is like. we should like. do this more | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** awww tilly | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** shut up ok??!! | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** i agree though! your place next time? | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** but i like your place more :( | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** fine, mine again then | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** but we get to watch high school musical | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** oh yeah “watch” high school musical | Sent yesterday

**tillyhendy69:** like we “watched” parent trap | Sent yesterday

**mikey:** shush you | Sent yesterday

—Today—

**mikey:** for fucks sake tilly | Sent 6:14pm

**mikey:** we just made plans | Sent 6:14pm

**mikey:** so much for “riv to you but im different” | Sent 6:14pm

**mikey:** fuck | Sent 6:15pm

**mikey:** why couldnt you have been different huh | Sent 6:15pm

< **jay** >

**gaylen:** hey | Sent 6:19pm

**micycle:** yes, i heard, no im not okay | Sent 6:19pm

**gaylen:** oof. yeah | Sent 6:19pm

**gaylen:** shit. I’m so Sorry | Sent 6:19pm

**gaylen:** I know I goofed around about You and tillman but He wasnt a Bad guy | Sent 6:20pm

**micycle:** i know | Sent 6:20pm

**gaylen:** He sure as hell didn’t deserve to die | Sent 6:21pm

**micycle:** i know that too | Sent 6:21pm

**micycle:** don’t worry though, i know this emotional shit is hard for you | Sent 6:22pm

**micycle:** just. can you. keep talking to me. it’s helping | Sent 6:22pm

**gaylen:** It is? | Sent 6:22pm

**gaylen:** Cool | Sent 6:23pm

**gaylen:** hey did You see You’re at spot 2 on the board | Sent 6:23pm

**micycle:** wait seriously? | Sent 6:24pm

**gaylen:** yeah | Sent 6:24pm

**gaylen:** but um | Sent 6:24pm

**gaylen:** be Careful okay | Sent 6:24pm

**micycle:** ?? | Sent 6:25pm

**gaylen:** there’s a Red line again | Sent 6:25pm

**gaylen:** Under spot 3 | Sent 6:25pm

-

He stays at spot two on the idol board until the regular season ends. The Garages are all gathered close around the crappy old TV in the hangar, its screen bright in the dimly lit room, eyes fixated on the five-minute countdown clock and the news.

They all know what’s going to happen to Mike when that clock hits zero.

Nobody says anything, but from where, initially, everyone was huddled around him, supportive, they drift away warily—a two-metre-ish berth is enough, they figure, safe, to not get caught up when Mike’s shell sprouts from the ground around him. Betsy stays the longest, sitting beside him on the floor with her arm linked firmly into his, staunchly refusing to look at him (even though he can already see the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes). She allows herself to be coaxed away by Teddy only when the countdown hits fifteen seconds.

In his final moments, Mike Townsend sits alone.

The countdown ticks to zero. The clock hits eight. There’s an overwhelming smell of peanuts, and then all is dark.

_ —Feedback detected! POV has switched to Jaylen Hotdogfingers! _ —

_ now playing:  _ twin size mattress  _ by  _ the front bottoms

⏸————⚪—— 4:25

_ “i’m sure that we could find something _

_ for you to do on stage _

_ maybe shake a tambourine _

_ or when i sing you sing harmonies” _

The time is seven-fifty in the evening and Jaylen is not watching the news. 

She probably should be—she’s heard tell of some idol-related plan brewing amongst the fans, and knowing blaseball fans she’ll probably be involved, but—she just can’t bring herself to care. Not right now.

Right now, Jaylen’s reminiscing. Even though it makes her sad.

Jaylen has open her old MlySpace page. Painted in a stark black and white and covered in edgy blinkies and barely-readable fonts—oh, yeah, this is highschool Jaylen’s account, no doubt. Her eyes scan down the page, squint at the little ‘Personal Details’ section in the corner.

_ Status: Taken!  _ (Yeah, regrettably by Mike at this point, before they figured out they were definitely better off as friends. And also both gay as hell.)

_ Here for: Friends, Music _

_ Orientation: Straight  _ (Suuuure.)

She shakes her head with a snort and clicks over onto the friends list. There’s a bunch of kids from their class here—most of them she doesn’t even speak to anymore, but she does spot a few familiar names. Allison Abbott. Lang Richardson. Mike Townsend.

Jaylen swallows and checks her pulse. She hates how the only people she knows anymore are blaseball players. How the only thing she knows anymore is blaseball. Between games and practice and interviews, band practice and team bonding and dealing with the long-lasting consequences that ripple out from every stupid thing that happens in this splort, there’s no time left over to be an actual person.

She clicks onto Mike’s profile.

It’s still, for the most part, the default webpage MlySpace gives you when you sign up. She remembers hounding him about it, complaining that she put  _ so _ much time and effort and  _ hard work _ into customising hers and he couldn’t even put a second into changing his. Hence why the background colour was red; he’d chuckled and put his hands up placatingly and gone  _ “alright, alright, i’ll change it”  _ and randomly moved the colour slider around until he landed on one he liked. She remembers needling him about it anyway, trying to push him into adding these blinkies and those custom cursors and this piece of code she found that lets you play music on your page, and how he should use it to play this Mudhoney song or that Alice in Chains one. The only profile picture in his friends list is hers.

Jaylen frowns at the memories. She should’ve been nicer to him.

They all should’ve.

-

< **townsend199X** >

**seajay46:** hey You’re gonna major in music right? when We go to college?

**townsend199X:** yeah, i think so

**seajay46:** Me too!

**seajay46:** hey maybe We’ll be in the Same classes

**seajay46:** You play guitar right?

**townsend199X:** uh huh

**townsend199X:** couple other things too

**seajay46:** yo maybe We should start a band

**townsend199X:** for serious?

**seajay46:** yeah!

**seajay46:** why Not, right?

**seajay46:** We’re both music fans AND musicians and We’re majoring in music at the Same college

**townsend199X:** mmmm

**townsend199X:** idk

**seajay46:** whyyyyyyy cmon cmon cmon

**townsend199X:** it’s kinda scary!

**seajay46:** boooo

**seajay46:** coward

**seajay46:** nerd

**seajay46:** You big cowardnerd

**townsend199X:** mmmmm ok fine fine fine fine

**townsend199X:** lets start a band

**seajay46:** NICE

-

Jaylen swallows against a rising tide of anger. Not long after she died, the rest of the Garages had kicked Mike out of the band. Kicked him out of the band he  _ made _ . With her.

God, she just hates them sometimes.

She glances at the time. Oh, it’s one minute to eight. The idol board timer should be ticking down to its final moments.

Jaylen doesn’t think about it in the moment, for obvious reasons, but later she’ll remember her eyes rolling back in her head as she slumps to the floor, already dead.

_ now playing:  _ damage  _ by  _ fit for rivals

⏸—————⚪— 3:08

_ “once it starts, it never stops _

_ discipline, it's all i'm not _

_ can't help myself, you listening? _

_ why can't i say just what i want?” _

Jaylen blinks open her eyes. She is on the field, and everything is bathed in a bloody red light.

Her hands feel wet, tacky. She opens and closes them, glancing down at the ground where just-too-long grass is whipping around her cleats in a raging wind. Her uniform is baby blue and pastel pink. She looks over her shoulder, sees the Baltimore Crabs peering fearfully from their dugout. Kennedy Loser’s eyes comb his team, not the field, hands fretfully not-touching them, making sure they’re okay; Nagomi McDaniel glares up at the sky, the fury in her eyes unrivalled by anything Jaylen’s ever seen; Luis Acevedo is one of the many visibly injured Crabs, their skin glitching unpredictably.  _ What happened to you? _

She returns her gaze to the field and follows the red spotlight up to its source. In the sky she sees a vengeful god, finally hears its hateful calls.

All confusion and fear deserts her. Her years on the Garages trained her well. The only thing she feels is the urge to fight the Peanut and kill it  _ dead. _

She fights down the urge to check her pulse and, for the first time, she looks at the people who share the field with her. There are some in damp pastel uniforms like her own—she recognises Landry Violence and,  _ oof, _ Boyfriend Monreal, and Randy Marijuana and so many others, many that she sent to the Hall herself, among that number—and then there’s others in red and grey. Suddenly she remembers—shelled players became the PODs, this time last season, and now, she supposes, the Shelled One has perfected its team. Jessica Telephone stands on the opposite side of the field, dead-eyed. Jaylen stares at her, one moment, two moment, then lets her gaze flicker elsewhere, to the other PODs. Sizing up the competition.

York Silk. Quitter and Pothos. The Peanuts. Pitching Machine, inexplicably.

And.

Mike Townsend stands almost perfectly opposite her on the field, some fucked up symmetry around the centering point of the mound. He has six extra pairs of arms rotating on-axis around him. She doesn’t think she ever saw him with so many, but she supposes the Peanut has its drones stretched to their limits. 

She steps forward. He does too. The symmetry is maintained and she meets his glossy red eyes.

“Hi, Mike,” she says, and her voice is so much sadder and more tired than she thought she was.

Mike’s head twitches, shoulders hunch a little. “hi, jaylen.” His voice is almost a whisper, doubled up and chorused over itself like someone else is speaking with him.

There is so much she wants to say. Part of her wants to say sorry for all the shitty years of mistreatment he suffered at the hands of the other Garages and, fuck, her too, and part of her wants to grab him by the front of his stupid shirt and shake him out of this, this reverie, and part of her wants to just run away from it all, to not have to bear this terrible burden of being  _ the  _ pitcher, go live out the rest of her days in a cabin in the woods somewhere or better yet end up dead and in a shallow grave, and part of her wants to hug him, and part of her wants to cry, and, and—

What she ends up saying is this. “Why?” Her voice croaks. She blinks hard.

He convulses momentarily. There is an odd movement to him now, like moving your hand inside a glove that’s too small for you. “you treated me… not. right,” he stumbles. “shouldn’t be... “ He gives a halting sigh, shakes his head erratically. “how come you liked me... now i’m good?”

It cuts deeper than Jaylen would like to admit. “I always liked you, Mike,” she murmurs back, painfully aware that she’s more than likely talking to some cruel god puppeteering Mike, just making him say whatever’s gonna shake her and break her spirit. She still can’t let it go unsaid. “I liked you even when you sucked. And man, you  _ sucked _ ,” she says, with a small, mirthless smile, though she knows he won’t respond with one of his own. “But you were my best friend—you  _ are  _ my best friend, man. That’s never gonna change, okay?”

Mike doesn’t respond. She swallows hard, lifts a hand to check her pulse as she breaks eye contact. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Fuck it.”

She shakes herself. Takes her fingers off of her wrist.

“Let’s play ball.”

Jaylen pitches first and she has to say, staring down a vicious-looking Jess T from the mound is  _ not  _ one of her favourite experiences. Each batter who comes up to the plate looks at her like they want to kill her, and in fact, intend on doing so. 

She keeps her nerve. Jaylen Hotdogfingers is used to staring death in the face.

The weather keeps changing—one moment she’s soaked in blood raining from the sky, the next the umpires are bursting into flames, going rogue—and she squeezes her eyes shut and clenches her fist tight around the ball and—

Feedback squeals around the stadium in an all-too-familiar way. Jaylen’s eyes snap open. 

Did she just do that?

The realisation hits her like a freight train.  _ This  _ is how she saves the PODs.  _ This  _ is how they win. She’ll have to switch with, with…

Her heart stops. With Mike.

And that means only one of them can go home.

No time for thinking about that. She has to focus. She has a job to do.

She pitches, and pitches, and pitches. Changes the weather as often as she can, delights in the offended screeches of the Shelled One from above. In the top of the second, her plan works for the first time. The feedback screeches and suddenly she’s not on the field anymore, she’s in the dugout and wearing red and Mike Townsend is out there in blue and pink, looking shaky and dazed. Despite the sudden roaring of blood in her ears and the piercing headache invading her skull, she stands and grins, gives a whoop. “Go Mike!”

He hears her. Only barely, but it’s enough, and he shoots her a tiny smile and starts to pitch.

They switch in and out almost every inning, and Jaylen realises that every time she swaps Mike to the Hall Stars he looks more himself. He looks fucking exhausted and maybe even a little sick, huge, heavy bags under his eyes, skin sallow and thin, but it’s him alright. It gives her just a tiny bit of hope, that maybe he’s going to get out of this alive.

By chance, Jaylen is on the PODs when it happens, and Mike’s on the Hall Stars. Dominic steps up to the plate. She hands him an easy ball, soft and slow and straight down the middle, in the same way, to the same place, like she has every time, and he hits it with an earth-shattering  _ crack _ and it flies up, up, up… and shoots God through the heart. The Peanut starts to yell something or other about blasphemy as two huge tentacles reach up threateningly around its sides, but Jaylen isn’t looking at that.

Jaylen’s looking at Mike, who is walking towards her from the other side of the field. 

She knows what’s going to happen moments before it does.

She lets out an agonised scream and runs to him, tripping over her own feet, repeating  _ I can save him, I can save him, I can save him too _ , desperately in her head, even as he starts to prove her wrong. His knees fail him, wobbling uselessly beneath him, and she lunges, catches him, won’t let his head hit the floor.

“Mike,” she sobs, and realises suddenly that she’s crying,  _ ugly  _ crying, like snot-running, spit-thickening, throat-closing crying. That’s funny. Jaylen never cries. “Hey. Hi, Mike.”

She desperately awaits his response. Press her fingers hard into the side of his neck, find a pulse, a pulse, a pulse, a pulse.

She’s kidding herself.

There is no response. There was never going to be.

Mike Townsend was dead from the moment the battle was over.

-

< **bike townsend** >

**gaylen:** goddamnit mike | Sent 2:31am

**gaylen:** you stupod selfless piece of shit | Sent 2:31am

**gaylen:** how dare ypu | Sent 2:31am

**gaylen:** i love you | Sent 2:32am

**gaylen:** how dare you | Sent 2:32am

**gaylen:** fjck | Sent 2:32am

_ now playing:  _ for matt  _ by  _ slash fiction

⏸——————⚪ 5:49

_ “i'm older now _

_ than you ever got to be _

_ i'm making memories for the years you never got to see _

_ i'm older now _

_ and i'll keep on getting older _

_ as my scars keep healing over each and every day” _

Mike’s funeral is the worst she’s ever been to.

Well, okay. There are no good funerals. She hates them, them and hospitals, same category to Jaylen.

But this is the worst. She’s been to tons of funerals, comes along with the splort, but none were like this. None were her best friend. None were Mike. And none were such a full stop as this one.

She knows the other Released players have been having near-identical funerals across the immaterial plane over the last few days but she couldn’t bring herself to attend any of the others. She could barely bring herself to drive up to Seattle for Mike’s—she’s no good with emotions, was seriously considering skipping it and getting blackout drunk on her own in her apartment—but a combination of Teddy’s pleading texts and Allison Abbott calling to say that if she could make the effort all the way from Dallas, then Jaylen could manage it from San Francisco, ended up convincing her.

So here she is. In her nicest suit, standing outside on a rainy day. 

Teddy gave a pulpy speech that he cried most of his way through and Betsy declined to speak, instead taking the opportunity to stab a hole in one of the walls of the funeral parlour. Jaylen gave a speech too, and a damn good one, if she does say so herself. What? She’s used to public speaking, hiding her emotions.

Besides, Jaylen doesn’t cry.

She takes a long drag on her cigarette, lighting a red glow across her rugged cheeks. A sharp contrast to the cold grey filter that the drizzle puts over everything.

The door creaks open behind her, shuts. She doesn’t look around.

“Thought you quit that,” says Allison.

“I did,” she huffs. “You’ll forgive me one smoke, today?”

Allison hums in response, and pulls a pack of her own death sticks from her pocket. “You got a light?”

“Mhm.” She tosses her lighter over, watches Allison’s frustration grow as she tries to hide the flame under her hands, protect it from the rain.

They stand together in silence for a little while, blowing smoke out into the evening.

Eventually Jaylen throws her cig to the ground, scuffs it out under her heel. “I’m leaving.”

“Alright.” Teddy would’ve tried to get her to stay. Not Allison. Allison knows her too well, knows this is how she copes. “Don’t do that stupid thing you always do where you get more depressed ‘cause you cut yourself off from everyone.”

Jaylen flinches, and considers blowing up at her, but tamps herself down. “...Whatever. Fine.”

“Gimme a call if you need.”

Jaylen turns, keeps eye contact with her for a moment, and then gives a terse smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Allison says, taking another drag.

-

< **cap** >

**teddy:** Hi Jay. I know everything’s tough at the minute, uh. I’m struggling too, but I know you and Mike were really close. If you need anything, anything, at all, don’t be afraid to reach out. The Garages are always here for you, no matter where you are. | Sent 7:19pm

✓ Read 7:20pm

< **alli alli allison** >

**nailbat:** my offer still stands. no pressure, but. hope you’re doing ok. | Sent 8:00pm

✓ Read 8:00pm

< **tilly henderbitch** >

**tillyhendy69:** yo so i know i fuckin like hate you and shit even though youre like completely in love with me and its really sad but like. maybe we could talk | Sent 9:19pm

**tillyhendy69:** idk thats kinda lame | Sent 9:20pm

**tillyhendy69:** but i fuckin miss him man its stupid and like, i know you definitely do too cause yall were fuckbuddies back in highschool or something idk i didnt really listen to him when he told me | Sent 9:20pm

**tillyhendy69:** point being i know you were close | Sent 9:21pm

**tillyhendy69:** we were too | Sent 9:21pm

**tillyhendy69:** maybe we could talk. idk. we dont have to | Sent 9:23pm

**tillyhendy69:** let me know okay | Sent 9:25pm

✓ Read 9:28pm

-

She thinks she’s earned a little sad reminiscing today.

She’s spent a lot of time reading and re-reading those old messages, those pages. Their old band page on Mlyspace. This was back when the Garages was just her and Mike and a battered acoustic they shared custody of, back when things were simple. There’s a picture on the title page from a photo booth, the two of them squished together and grinning huge, all baby-faced.

She clicks through a YouTube link in their ‘About’ section.

-

A very young-looking Mike and Jaylen are squashed into frame, both of them just a little too leggy to fit comfortably into the fuzzy square resolution of Mike’s mom’s old camcorder. Mike’s holding their guitar on his lap, tucked real close to his chest to make as much room as possible.

“Okay,” Jaylen says under her breath to Mike, a tiny smile on her face. He returns it and strums the opening to a very early version of  _ Fight Gods. _

Her voice is scratchy and underpracticed, but not bad as she sings along. Occasionally Mike chimes in with backing vocals, and finally the song concludes. Jaylen lets out a cheer, and Mike smiles and lets his picking of the end of the song transform into  _ Wlonderwall _ . Jaylen groans and punches him hard in the shoulder. He snickers and punches her back and somehow, they devolve into a loud, laughing playfight until Mike drops the acoustic on the floor. “Shit!” He scrambles out of frame to rescue the instrument. Jaylen falls back on the sofa, howling with laughter.

-

She throws her laptop to the floor with a clatter. She doesn’t give a shit if it breaks. “Fuck,” she growls, pressing a hand hard into her wrist to check her pulse. “FUCK!” Jaylen smacks her other hand over her eyes, throws herself back on the sofa and sobs harder than she thinks she has in her entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> heyo, thank you so much for reading! special thanks to @DericBindel on twitter for the amazing art that inspired this whole idea, crabitat wrigen for encouraging my evil deeds, and my wonderful betas steviesbucks and hazzarat! i'm seb#2979 on discord, you can find me in the big garage or the crabitat, or chilling between slowmodes in the maincord, so feel free to come chat!


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